THIS MATTERS TO ME: Were we ever that young?

In recent weeks, President Barack Obama has given some rousing speeches in front of wildly enthusiastic crowds of college students. Sometimes a thought occurs to me. What do these kids know? They’re so young, idealistic and completely out of touch with the workings of a cold cruel world. Was I ever like that? Forgotten memories return.

In recent weeks, President Barack Obama has given some rousing speeches in front of wildly enthusiastic crowds of college students. Sometimes a thought occurs to me. What do these kids know? They’re so young, idealistic and completely out of touch with the workings of a cold cruel world. Was I ever like that? Forgotten memories return.

My college years spanned 1966 to 1970; a turbulent time in our history. As a liberal arts student at Stonehill College, my experience was not much different from many at the time. In college, as it was then and remains today, you search for an academic subject that might spark an interest which hopefully leads to one’s true calling. Along the way, if you’re lucky, you also find a partner with whom you will share your life. Fortune favored me on both counts.

College resembles a Caribbean cruise that visits several islands. On such a cruise passengers disembark to each locale, taste its cultural flavor, and decide which place might be worthy of a return trip. The rest of the time is spent eating, drinking, and making new friends. Stonehill was like that. We visited wondrous islands of learning during the day and partied at night and on weekends.

But War overshadowed everything. It occupied the minds of a nation as young men were drafted and sent to Vietnam. Too many died. Yet for those men with a college deferment, denial was all too easy and life was good. Why worry when you had four years to enjoy the here and now. Many of us were more concerned with grades and meeting girls than the war. Stonehill was not exactly a hotbed of campus unrest.

On Dec. 1, 1969, the night of the “draft lottery,” life changed for males born between the years of 1944 and 1950, as college deferments ended. There were “lottery parties” all over campus. Driving to a basketball game with a group of friends, we strained to listen on the radio. Numbers were selected and matched with one’s birthday, thus determining draft status. Anyone with a number up to 150 had a good chance of being drafted.

The next morning, wherever you went, voices echoed, “What’s your number?” Some friends, hung-over from the previous night, had numbers like 6, 21 or 50. Others wore broad smiles signaling that they had fared better. My number was 122.

Several options were available: a student could go to Canada, to jail, to Viet Nam, or join the National Guard (a 6 year commitment allowing one to return home after a six-month training period at an Army base). At 21, I wasn’t vehemently antiwar, and respected those who were fighting despite much confusion as to why we were over there. Upon reflection, perhaps I just selfishly opposed anything that would delay my future plans. Thus in February of 1970, the Massachusetts National Guard had a new enlistee.

Page 2 of 2 -
My naiveté would soon come crashing down. It’s funny what one remembers. Sitting in a political science class I posed a question to my professor,” Why don’t the Democrats just run someone for president who will promise to withdraw from Vietnam?” He responded, “Because, he’d lose in a landslide” That made no sense to me. Insulated from the outside world, I understood very little.

On May 4, 1970 four students at Kent State were killed during anti-war protests, by National Guard troops sent there to restore order. Stonehill students, like those in most colleges, were outraged. Protests sprung up, classes were cancelled, and final exams were stopped. (That worked for me.)

A large contingent marched to the Brockton draft board, joining students from Bridgewater State College along the way. Upon reaching our destination we all sat down on Main St. in front of the draft board office. We yelled, chanted, and sang anti War hymns. Sitting there I silently pondered what consequences might follow should my fellow protesters discover that I was a member of the Massachusetts National Guard.

Returning to campus my fellow sociology majors met with an admired, progressive assistant professor who helped us organize a group to put together future antiwar demonstrations. We wore red arm bands which read (Gulp!) “Communiversity.”

Later that afternoon, I returned to Fall River to pick up my Mom who was getting off from work at one of the mills. Entering the building, I’d neglected to remove the arm band. My mother was appalled when she saw it, and ripped it off immediately. Older people, I thought, just didn’t understand.

I graduated from Stonehill College the first week of June, got married the second week, and found myself in Ft. Jackson, S.C., two months later. The war didn’t go away but life went on as planned. After we had our first child, my new family drove off to the University of Illinois (graduate school) in our 1970 Chevy Impala with a bumper sticker that proudly proclaimed “Don’t Blame Us We’re from Massachusetts” (my political science prof having accurately predicted the fate of George McGovern in 1972).

So when the nightly news highlights those adoring student crowds, ever hopeful and filled with conviction, I think, “more power to you.” Many from my generation once sat in your seats. However experience makes one exceedingly more savvy. With age comes wisdom. The values of personal responsibility, love of family, and abiding respect for this country’s founding principles are more important than ever.

Ed Costar is a retired Fall River educator and an occasional contributor to these pages.